


Goemon Finds a Suspicious Brownie (The Brownie Fic)

by Night32_7c



Category: Lupin III
Genre: 1970s, 70s, Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Background Poly, Comedy, Crack, Developing Relationship, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Gen, M/F, M/M, Marijuana, Multi, OOC, Polyamory, Rambling, Rating: M, Recreational Drug Use, background fujilup, grumpy jigen, he doesn't get hurt just a little high, jigen x goemon, jigoe, m/m - Freeform, poly is in the background, poor Goemon, slighly ooc, slight jigoe, the gang accidentally eats a suspicious brownie, the ship is not important here, whats important is the its Goemon and hes high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29748141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night32_7c/pseuds/Night32_7c
Summary: Goemon accidentally ingests a baked good item that was laced with a little something. That is all. That is the fic.
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III/Mine Fujiko, Ishikawa Goemon XIII/Jigen Daisuke
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Goemon Finds a Suspicious Brownie (The Brownie Fic)

It was rare that Goemon craved sweet items, especially if they were Western. The samurai wasn't one for deserts, believing that they were gluttonous and conflicted with his strict diet and regime needed to maintain peak physical form. On the occasion where it was necessary for him to consume something sweet, or the even fewer times when he craved it, he would search for Japanese snack items at convenience stores. It was often tedious and sometimes out right difficult, but he made do with what he had.

In between heists, the gang would reside at one of Lupin's numerous safe houses scattered across the globe. Currently, Jigen, Lupin, Fujiko, and Goemon were residing in a small, shacked up apartment on the northern tip of France, which of course was decided by the gang's leader, because according to him, "There's no place like home, am I right?" Their last heist was not that long ago and it was pivotal for them to lay low in a remote village as well as keeping a low profile as to not raise suspicions from Interpol. Granted they had disguises and costumes available for each member, but it was decided that the best course of action was to not leave the apartment unless it was absolutely, positively necessary. 

And the first to break that rule was master thief Lupin himself.

"Just where do you think you're going hot shot?" an annoyed Jigen inquired as he lounged on the couch. His hat was slipped over his face, obscuring his vision, but he could sense his partner creeping towards the front door, their only means of exit and entrance. Goemon, who was in the kitchen preparing food, was listening to their his partners in the other room.

"I'm going out with Fujiko on a date. I have to meet up with her in a few minutes." Lupin stated nonchalantly with a pout, his hands slipping up to straighten his tie. He then began to search his body, soon swiftly pulling out a portable mirror, which he promptly opened to check his hair. "It's rare that me and her even get to be, well, alone together." He notably put emphasis on the words 'alone' and 'together', all but making sure that he had a sly grin accompanying those words. Goemon couldn't see Jigen's reaction, but he could practically imagine the older gunman instantly jolting up from his comfortable position on the couch, hands at Lupin's throat.

"Are you crazy? You friggin' told us that cops were surrounding this middle of nowhere town, and you made a big friggin' PSA about how we're. under no circumstances, allowed to leave this shithole apartment, but now you're going out with that chick?" the gunman yelled as Lupin grabbed his jacket from the closet and began to put it on. "Oh, no he isn't listening. Typical, you know! Hey Lupin, Lupin, LUPIN, LU-" and just like that, the thief opened the door and scurried out, making sure to close it with force to send his message across to the other men in the apartment: that he was going on a date with dear Fujicakes and it was final.

Jigen scoffed, mumbling curses before plopping himself back onto the leather sofa with his legs sprawled out. The samurai would eventually join his partner, once he finished preparing both of their dinners. On nights when Lupin was out, whether it was to go to discos or on dates, Goemon and Jigen would bond together over their shared interests of peace and quiet, or in other words, relishing the time when Lupin III wasn't there to create chaos. Goemon, while reaching for two sets of spoons and two bowls, let out a small, barely perceivable smile when thinking about the gunman; 

Before going to check on the meal he was preparing on the stove, which smelled aromatic and delectable, Goemon caught sight of a plastic-wrapped item on the counter. Upon closer inspection he saw it was a brownie, something he might have tried once in his life as a young kid, but he couldn't recall its flavor. What he did recall, however, was a conversation Lupin and Fujiko once had about the chocolately treat, exclaiming how 'brownies could make even the worst days better' and adding how brownies were the essential childhood snack. Jigen even chimed in, commenting on how he could go for a brownie. At the time, Goemon wasn't interested in this talk of deserts and chocolate, but currently in the kitchen, he seemed drawn to it. The brownie was sizable, big enough to fit on the entirety of his palm and he could see through the clear wrapping thick chunks of dark chocolate chips. For a moment, he debated on whether it was reasonable to take a portion of it: there was no note indicating it belong to anyone in the apartment or that it was reserved for a future time, it didn't have an assuming threat to it (no razor blades, shards of glass, etc. protruding out from the brownie), and it was left unaccompanied. _It could be poisoned or have a bomb implemented in it_ thought the samurai, who was scooping up the stew simmering on the stove top with a ladle and gently plating it within shallow bowls. He looked behind at the brownie; scarily enough, he felt strangely compelled to greedily gobble it up. Like a spell had been placed on him. The object and the person stared silently for a moment, the air pregnant with tension that resembled a stalemate between two cowboys in those Western movies Jigen particularly enjoyed. A brief moment past where Goemon was lost in thought and time. After what felt like an eternity, Goemon shook himself out of his trance.

Without a second thought, he rushed to the brownie and delicately unwrapped the treat, making sure to place it back onto the counter with ease as he hurriedly rushed to grab a knife. He sliced a sliver of brownie, took a deep breath, and took a bite, the strange and foreign taste coating his tongue. He first noted at its off putting bitter taste, but was quickly observant of its rich chocolate flavor. It was thick and fudgy, its dense gooey texture interrupted with hard shards of semi-sweet chocolate. Goemon found it pleasant, and while it wasn't an item he would have normally consumed, it was enjoyable. So enjoyable that the stoic man let go any sense of self discipline and proceeded to grab the brownie and take large bites out of it. It wasn't long before Goemon finished it before grabbing the bowls he had neglected, exiting the kitchen, and entering the living room to place the food on the chabudai table placed in the center of the room, quickly sitting down and brushing away any dark crumbs left from his snack. Jigen, awakened by the sound of the dinning ware being placed on the table, slivered out of his position to sit with his business partner.

"Smells good." the gunman complimented, his voice sounding husky from both the yelling and from sleep. The two began to eat, with the samurai eating at a slower rate than what we would normally had. While the experience was largely silent, spared for the occasional grunt and sound of silverware clanking against the bowl and table, the atmosphere was light hearted and joyous, and while it was out of character for the statue of man to smile, Goemon could feel the muscles of his face traveling upwards ever so slightly. 

The first to break the silence was Jigen. "Hey did you happen to see a brownie on the table? Its one of those, um, dark chocolate deserts, they're kinda like cakes but smaller, you get the picture." As he explained the concept of a brownie, using his hands to shape out the dimensions of said brownie, Goemon's smile slowly began to leave his face. "Yes, Jigen." the samurai replied bluntly. 

"Oh that's neat, can you go get it for me, please?" Jigen asked curtly as he scooped up the remaining bits of stew, taking zero note of the rising panic within his friend. The remark was followed by silence, a telltale sign of worry and stress. The gunman raised his head to face the man across from him, taking in the small gestures of on setting panic: Goemon's stone cold face was replaced with one of strain, his forehead scrunched and curled resulting in lines, and his dark eyes stayed blank and lifeless.

"Don't tell me you ate it."

"I deeply apologize, Jigen. It was my mistake. There was no note on there, so I assumed that it was unclaimed by anyone. I am very ashamed of myself, and if you'd like, I could go and retrieve another one from a bakery or from the store."

"How much did you eat?" That question startled Goemon, who was clenching his fist within his lap and apologetically looking at the floor. When Jigen received no reply he restated his question with added indications of concern and stress. "Goemon, how much did you eat?"

The samurai, trembling, replied. "The entire thing." Jigen stayed in his position and did not move a muscle as the ashamed Ishikawa began to explain himself, "I was overcome with greed and gluttony. Unfortunately I was in a state in which I-"

"Goemon, I'm not worried about the friggin' pastry itself, because I can get that anytime. I'm worried because you ate an entire edible." Jigen delivered his sentences with a stressful chuckle, and received a puzzled look from Goemon. "Aren't all foods edible?" the latter replied with a childlike bewilderment at the thought of inedible and edible dishes. In response, Jigen stress laughed more.

"I know that, but what I mean is that you just ate an entire weed brownie, and it was potent." More puzzled stares came from his companion, requiring Jigen to explain into further detail. "Weed is a drug, Goemon, and it's pretty popular now. Some people will bake it into deserts to make it more digestible and it makes it, how do you say it, react differently with your body. In other words, you're gonna be high as shit soon and for a while. You're gonna be on a trip. When exactly did you eat it?"

Goemon, who was now frightened and filled with anxiety, bluntly answer, "30 minutes ago."

"Oh shit. You should be feeling it about now." Placing his hands to his head, Jigen rushed to sit up and quickly scurried into the kitchen, leaving a scared Goemon the floor. He refused to move from his seated position in fear of causing damage to his body or doing something incorrectly. He had never been high before in his life, and hell, he hadn't even known what weed was in this context, only imagining weeds as the pesky vegetation found within gardens. Goemon could feel his body easing up and becoming sluggish, mimicking the effects of sedatives as the drug slowly entered his blood stream. Taking in a deep inhale from his nose, Goemon closed his eyes, but it was hard to meditate or find stillness with the growing feeling of dizziness. The world around him was spinning and it was hard to ground himself as the overwhelming thoughts came rushing in.

 _I must get up, I have to walk around. I must be dying, my body feels weird; I am dying._ Goemon thought as he shakily got up, struggling to balance himself. He swayed back and forth, instinctively placing his hands in front of him, but to his own bare eyes, his arms were slower than his thoughts. Subconsciously swaying his head back and forth, Goemon's eyelids grew heavy and he slowly became less aware of his surroundings, the one thing that had kept both and his gang alive; a samurai's most powerful weapon was his own mind and body. The thought of losing his hearing, his eyesight, even his sense of smell was enough to throw the Japanese man into a state of panic, but thankfully, Jigen came rushing back into the room carrying a glass of what appeared to be water. With his dominant right hand, Jigen guided his inebriated friend to the sofa, the exact one he had been resting on nearly an hour ago, and then slowly giving his companion the glass, making sure he had a good grip on it before letting his hands go.

Goemon, who's fingers were shaky, grabbed the cup, his fingers briskly feeling the calloused ones of the older man.

"Why do I need this, Jigen?"

"You're gonna eventually develop cotton mouth, and believe me it sucks ass. It feels like the Sahara in there, and I've nearly chocked to death when I was in your situation. Trust me, you will need it. Also, how are you doing?"

It took Goemon a moment to formulate his thoughts, evident that his brain was regressing to a numbingly slow pace that was paired with the rest of his body feeling slow as a snail. Even the action of blinking took longer than it should have, with his eyelashes now feelings like weights that crushed his eyelids downward. His eyes squinted at the bright light that was over head, and his body was sinking deeper and deeper into the couch, almost feeling like he could fall in and suffocate on the cushion. Still holding his glass, he brought it up to his face, missing his lips by a few centimeters and hitting his chin. Thankfully, the hat wearing gun man used his pointer finger and middle finger to lightly direct his inebriated friend's drink, allowing his friend to sip the drink. "Jigen, what do I do now?"

"Well, you're supposed to sit back and relax. It's gonna last for a few hours, but if you're lucky, you'll fall asleep. This stuff can knock people out real quick, but everyone reacts different, you know?" Reclining back on his seat with his hands clasped behind his neck, he closed his eyes and let out a chuckle. "Oh, I was so planning on kicking back and relaxing with some music, high as a kite, and you had to go off and eat the whole damn brownie, ha!" Jigen looked over to his right saw the horrified Goemon chugging his glass of water, looking quite disheveled. His eyes weren't stereotypically bloodshot red, but he had a hazy, glazed over look in his eyes that was reminiscent of sleepless nights and unshakeable fatigue, but Jigen could sense that Goemon's mind and heart, although slowed by the drugs, were racing with the new experiences and senses. It was like being a baby all over again, confronting new occurrences with little assistance. Truth be told, it must have been horrifying.

Jigen sighed, and while he did so he stretched out his arm, soon finding its way to Goemon's left forearm. In a firm but not tight grasp, the older man was able to get the other's attention; Goemon was at a point in his high where he was sluggish and slow to respond to stimuli, as seen by the delayed reaction of his head turning to face Daisuke Jigen and even then, his eyes were too tired to look directly at the other person. As a result, Goemon fixated his eyes on the scruffy beard, analyzing every detail of the course dark hair. It was trimmed, jagged, pointed, and it moved with every breath or facial movement Jigen made. Without an restraint or fear of being singled out by his peers, Goemon, like a naïve and outspoken child, commented, "You're beard is that of a crescent moon." as he gently tweezed a few of the hairs between his fingers. Jigen shrugged it off, seemingly unbothered as he took his partner's hand that had been on his chin and positioned it back onto the couch. It was so unlike him, to be this caring and gentle with someone, let alone someone who he was business partners with.

"So here's what we're gonna do," the hat wearing man began to talk in a calm voice, reminiscent of an older and wise family member, "we are going to just relax and cling onto the couch. I'm assuming this is your first time, so you're gonna be absolutely fucked up, but if you stay calm and just let this shit happen, you'll feel great. It honestly isn't that bad, man, just it fucks up with your reality and any concept of time, space, you know all of that junk." He rambled on, as if aware of how his voice calmed the samurai, who's lips were still connected to the cold glass even after finishing his water. His thirst was overpowering and even though it did incite discomfort and irritability, Goemon wouldn't want to see his friend leave to get him another.

His friend. Goemon had to relay this information.

"Jigen we're friends. We are brothers, but more, but not related. Ah, what's that one poem I really really really like." Any of Goemon's idiosyncrasies, his thoughtful and meticulously crafted sentences, his refrain from slurring his words, and his quiet nature, speaking only when it was absolutely needed, had left him. The inebriated Goemon was, well, he was normal. Not normal in terms of dress or thought, but the way he talked was more modern and his nature had changed to become more loose and chill. He wasn't like his drunk self either, which was odd to Jigen, for in most of his experiences and own encounters with inebriated individuals, a person's highself and a person's drunkself were fraternal twins: related but a little different. On the contrary, his partner was not the blushy, distant, and aloof person who Jigen often encounter whenever him and the gang went out clubbing or had too much to drink at a hotel bar. The inebriated samurai was vocal, gurgling, and spewing out random thoughts that ranged from incoherent to comedic, and he was also clumsy. His fingers, which Jigen could only assume felt like heavy dumbells, moved slowly. His samurai friend continued to recite random nothings before he was interrupted by the gurgling of his stomach. _Crap,_ Jigen thought, _the munchies!_

"Jigen-chan," Goemon giggled affectionately, before being engulfed by a wave of laughter. It wasn't long before the inebriated man was holding his sides and barring his teeth while laughing at the mere thought of calling the tough gunman something so childish and juvenile. It took a minute and some wheezing from the samurai before he could come to a state where he could talk (albeit traces of laughter could be heard as he tried to get the words out of his mouth). "I'm starving. Where is that cereal Lupin eats with the rainbow orbs? The one with the sea admiral on it." Never in a million years would Daisuke Jigen have ever envisioned that the anachronistic man adjacent to him, the one who pride himself on being the utmost proper and refined while maintaining traditional values, would be asking for a sugary and artificial American breakfast food that was marketed towards kids. The shocked individual inquired, "You mean Captain Crunch?"

"Yeah! Mmmh I smelled it whenever that monkey would open the box and it smelled like heaven. Yeah, Captain Crunch monkey." Goemon finished his sentence with a heavy wheeze that sounded even a little painful and strenuous on his vocal cords. He tried to lift himself up, but his body couldn't be detached from the sofa, resulting in the samurai plopping his head back on the upper part of the cushions. He then proceeded to lift his hand, and using his index finger, he pointed in the direction of the kitchen and waved it around like an impatient child. Although he groaned about the thought of leaving his desirable position on the divan (and taking his eye off of Goemon), Jigen did as he was commanded and departed from the seat to head towards the open door that led to the kitchen. He took one last glance at his samurai friend; his eyes were visibly red at this point and looked sunken in, his skin was spotted with a crimson flush that went across his cheeks, and his smile was lopsided. _Next time I'm hiding my edibles in my room._ and after that thought, the 'babysitter of Goemon' moved to reposition himself to face the kitchen cabinets. His hands scurried in search for the Captain Crunch cereal, specifically the one with all of the berries. Rather than take more time finding a bowl, milk, and a spoon, Jigen took the plastic sleeve out of the cardboard box, which was left discarded on the counter, and strode to the living room to find Goemon not sprawled out on the coach, but across the room near their shared record player.

The samurai was shakily crouched down, unsteadily balancing himself on his heels as his fingers slowly flipped through their shared record collection that was held in a single wicker basket. The gang's music collection was by no means impressive or grand, being that moving around so frequently meant that they couldn't have a massive stockpile; even the record player wasn't adorned with a modern hi-fi system, but was a cheap portable one. Not that it wasn't bad, just that Lupin preferred to listen to his various jazz and disco records at the best quality imaginable. The collection was largely comprised of gentleman thief's 'essential' records, the stuff he couldn't 'live without', but Jigen had brought some of his own LPs and 45s with them. A few classical music records, a rock vinyl he had snatched while they were doing a routine heist in England, and one ballad 45 that was hidden in the back of their pile to make sure no one knew about Jigen's unusual liking to slow and sappy songs. If Jigen's music collection sounded small, Goemon's was even smaller: he had a single enka record that was left untouched due to the fact that Goemon wasn't skilled with the newer and more advanced technologies, but from the looks of it, the samurai was looking at...Lupin's records?

"I would have never guessed that something so modern could be this groovy, man." Goemon mumbled to himself, back turned to the man holding a bag of brightly colored cereal. "I sure miss out on a lot of the hot stuff that goes on around here. Jigen, I can smell that you're right behind me. I'm high, not deaf." It took an immense amount of internal strength from Jigen to prevent himself from laughing. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing.

"What are you looking for specifically?"

"Something groovy and cool."

"Well, I'm no music expert but last year's disco chart topper isn't the coolest thing you could have picked out. Here, this should do the trick." and with that, Jigen reached over Goemon's shoulder and pulled out one of Lupin's jazz albums, one that Jigen had grown particularly fond of. With his pointer, thumb, and middle finger, Jigen gently took out the vinyl record from its protective sleeve, looking at the deep ridges and grooves that were damaged by scratches. Discarding the cover, Jigen turned on the record player and placed the record on the turntable, all while the curious Goemon, who sat cross-legged on the floor, look up at his friend. The samurai had grown antsy, leading to him slip his right arm out of the his lose sleeve and placing it on the inside of his loose kimono as he began to fiddle and play with his fingers. He only grew aware of the rest of the world when the cracklings of the record player and soft jazz music entered the room. 

After adjusting the volume, Jigen moved to properly face the seated Goemon, seeing his face and his black hair that was covering his face. They stared at each other for a moment before Goemon penetrated through he silence.

"What are we Jigen?"

The hat-wearing gun man stood like a deer in headlights. Those types of questions, the ones that were short but layered and packed with nuances, were the worst ones for someone to ask in an altered state. Jigen thought for a moment, wanting to tackle the heavy question the best that he could. "We're us. We're Daisuke Jigen and Goemon Ishikawa, friends, partners, foxhole buddies. We're, well, we're us!" the man said as he raced to the couch and laid himself on there, this time not conserving any space for the samurai, who appeared happy on the hardwood floor.

"Is that so? Aren't we galaxies and universes, and aren't we important? Jigen, what if we're characters in a grander story? What happens to us if that's true?"

"Listen bud, I'm not one to speculate on my own existence and our connection to the universe, but all I know is that we're us and we're here on Earth. You know I was never a philosophical person like you." Jigen chuckled, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out his packet of Marlboros and a lighter. He pulled out a cigarette, inserted it into his mouth, and lit it.

"Mh, philosophical speed." Goemon mumbled as he became fixated on the gray smoke coming from his partner. "I'm glad we exist together. One wrong move on either of our parts, or the part of the universe, and we would have been different continents, countries, whatever. My point is, we were scripted to be in this gang together to be partners. Oh, where's my cereal?" Quickly, with cigarette in mouth, Jigen sat up and walked over to the record player to grab his discarded plastic bag of treats. The record was half way through, currently on a rendition of a slow song. Tapping Goemon's head lightly to get his attention, Jigen placed the cereal bag in his friend's lap. Goemon then decided to move closer to the couch as Jigen repositioned himself on the couch. His left hand dangled off the side of the sofa right in front of the samurai, who was scarfing down handfuls of Captain Crunch without the aid of water or any liquid. Jigen hadn't noticed how dark out it was, completely losing track of time. He checked his watch to find out that it had be midnight for quite some time, a few hours since Goemon consumed the pot brownie. Jigen would have normally felt tired by now and would have fallen asleep but he was wide awake, taking in the sights of the hideout and the sound of plastic rustling and Goemon chewing with his mouth open. Normally, if it were Lupin or some stranger chewing like that, Jigen would have yelled at them for being inconsiderate, but it was Goemon, so it was passable. Even if his friend wasn't in his current state of mind, he would have surely let the impolite gesture pass. 

The two soon showed signs of drowsiness as the night continued on. The record had long ago stopped, for Jigen was enjoying himself too much to get up and flip it or even to turn off the record player. His cigarette had long been stubbed out, but the smoke and its smell still lingered, and all of the Captain Crunch had been consumed. Goemon, for an hour or so, discussed the passing thoughts that went into his head, even allowing absurd off hand comments to pass through his filter, the thoughts that would have existed and then further forgotten as quickly as they were formed. The samurai was actually quite funny when he didn't feel pressured to remain reserved and to only allow witty, sarcastic remarks to pass his lips. Jigen didn't contribute to Goemon's tangents, knowing he had nothing to offer but he listened attentively as to not hurt Goemon's feelings or to make the man feel like his thoughts were unwelcomed. Soon, Goemon had his back to the couch, still sitting on the floor, but he moved so that he was underneath Jigen. The latter's hand dangled from the couch over Goemon's shoulder so that it lay in front of his chest. Sometimes Goemon would inspect his hand with the arm that dangled out of the samurai's sleeve, feeling every crevice, tracing the numerous cuts and scars, and would sporadically flip his hand over to read the lines of his palms. Almost like a fortune teller. It was soothing and it gave the anachronistic samurai something to focus on, but of course he had to comment loudly on it. The older man couldn't help but smile. This was happiness, this was what made his life and career worth it. As his eyelids grew heavy, he could sense Goemon was growing tired to, as indicated by Goemon's slowed breathing and hesitation to continue the tracing of his palms. Within a few minutes, both the samurai and gunman closed their eyes and let sleep envelope them.

*************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Fujiko and Lupin had a shockingly normal and good date night. They went out to dinner at a local restaurant, walked in the park while holding hands, and went out for drinks. There were no interruptions, no betrayals, not even Interpol barged in to arrest them. They went out without any masks or disguises, weapons (well, any weapons that would have been visible to the average person that is), and were completely vulnerable to an enemy attack or arrest, but it went off without a hitch. It felt like a normal night.

The two returned to their hideout at approximately two in the morning, swaying a little from the alcohol. Lupin took longer than usual to pull out his keys, clumsily searching for the correct key for this particular French hideout, but eventually he picked the right one and slowly unlocked the front door. As to not make noise to awaken Mr. Grumpy old Jigen and Goemon, Lupin cautiously opened the heavy door to find the lights still on in the living room. It wasn't until he fully opened the door that him and Fujiko saw Jigen resting on the couch, hat slumped over his eyes, which would have been normal in most cases, but what they were surprised to see was Goemon sitting in a lotus position beside their partner. Their hands were intertwined together, thumbs locked over each others. Jigen was snoring while Goemon, who looked unusually tired with bags under his eyes, was sleeping peacefully. Lupin, who was about to tiptoe near them with the intentions of waking them up, was halted by Fujiko, who adamantly shock her head. Lupin agreed, and the duo silently left the living room, allowing the two resting to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a joke based on my own experiences with suspicious baked goods on the Lup Gang Discord server. I tried to minimize any spelling and grammar errors, but please let me know if you find some! I hope you like it!


End file.
